[𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐃𝐒𝐌, 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.]
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳-𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘴. 𝘔𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯, 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘈𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘛𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴. 𝘛𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦-𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘛𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥. 𝘈 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘥-𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘺...
Ari idled at his locker, taking advantage of the partial privacy its narrow walls provided. His metal cabinet was virtually identical to those surrounding it, say for a few photos and a questionably appropriate firefighter-themed calendar. Despite its size, the locker provided Ari refuge from the threat of social vulnerability.
The boy wasn’t inherently noticeable. He was slightly smaller than average and on the leaner side of athletic. When next to Thomas, the contrast between their physiques was obvious. But Ari worked hard to maintain a proportional middle ground. No matter how constant or intentional his efforts were to fade into the background, he was still an openly gay Jewish kid in a conservative high school.
From his pocket of privacy, Ari listened to the melody of his peers. The rolls and ruff of slamming lockers. The pizzicato of sneakers struck against the tile floor. He listened as the performers shuffled to their last class of the day, each playing a part in their transient-transit rhapsody. Ari flipped through a novel, tuning out all those beyond the walls of his makeshift cubicle.
Unlike most of those around him, he was free during the last period of every day. It had become a kind of ritual for the high school Junior. While Thomas no doubt toiled away, tortured by horrible visions of precalculus and trigonometry, Ari spent time with Miller, Salenger, and on the rare occasion Dickens. This week he had been getting to know Burnett, whom Ari found a surprising departure from his normal company. He pulled a pencil from his pocket, underlining part of the passage...
“…Everything's a story. You are a story – I am a story…”
...Sadly, Ari couldn’t spend the full period with Burnett.
He got why Thomas thought the book thing was sad, but Ari was content hanging with his novels. While teams and clubs were complicated, books were not. Still, Thomas had been excited when Ari expressed interest in the wrestling team, and a bigger friend group could be nice. It was more of a passing thought in the younger boy’s mind, but Thomas had been so into the idea that it was hard for Ari not to catch his excitement. The older boy had even gone out of his way to set up a meeting between Ari and Coach Henry. This meeting, the reason for Ari’s shortened reading time, was set for 2:30 in the coach’s office. A digital chime broke the silence of the now-empty hall, marking the end of the passing period. This gave Ari and Burnett 15 more minutes of quality time alone, and the boy intended to use every moment he got.
___
“Hey, slut.” The voice came from above. Ari swung around, confronted by the tapered V of a zip-up jacket. The boy jerked his head again, this time up towards the large jock looming over him.
Ari's response was reflexive, his voice full of angst. “𝘖𝘩 𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘵. 𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦.” He tried stepping back, prompting the taller figure to step even closer. Ari was practically standing in his locker, yet the space in front of them only seem to be shrinking.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you fag.” It wasn't a question, it was a statement. The jock glanced over to the locker door, chuckling at the shirtless men humping fire hydrants above the April calendar.
“Uh, hey, mA-Max.” Despite his cracking voice, Ari was more annoyed than afraid. “I’d love to talk, but I'm actually a little bu-”
“Whatcha reading?" Max grabbed the book out of Ari’s hands, clearly uninterested in whatever the boy was stammering about.
“Hey! Give that ba-“
“The fuck is this fruity shit!?” This time Max's laugh was full-on cackling. Ari went for his book, only for Max to raise it further out of reach. “I was just gonna mock you for reading alone like a fucking loser…” Ari reached up to grab Max’s arm but found his hand blocked and pinned to the top of the locker. “… But you’re really standing out here reading a book called ‘A Little Princess?’ You’ve out-fagged yourself!’”
Ari’s brain was on autopilot, trying to find the easiest way out of the situation while keeping his book and self unharmed. “Dude, it’s a classic English children's novel exploring gender ine-“
“wAIT, ITS A KIDS BOOK!?!? HA-HA OH MY GOD!!!” At this point, Ari was worried that Max’s laughing might warrant a noise complaint. Ari also didn't understand how Max’s grip was still so tight when the man was practically doubled over from howling. “HA-He-he… Is this how you want to be treated!?”
“Can we not do this today? I have -” Ari jumped… “-THINGS TO- ” His free hand grabbed the book. “-do today.” The boy landed with a triumphant thump, not even caring his other hand was still pinned. A few seconds into his internal celebration, Ari processed Max’s question. “Treated like what?”
Max grabbed the hand with the book, raising Ari’s free hand to join its captured brother. “…Like daddy’s little princess.” Max’s grin dripped with condescension. “I bet you’re such a submissive little bitch boy.” Ari felt a knee slip between his legs. His annoyance started shifting towards alarm. “How many dicks have you had up your slutty boycunt?” Ari tried to pull out of his confines, but Max had both his wrists tightly bound with just a single hand. “Or are you…” Max stared quizzically into Ari’s eyes, squeezing the boy’s ass through his Khaki pants. “… a virgin?"
“Ok, Max! T-that's enough!” Max looked down at Ari’s bouncing foot, recognizing the nervous tick as a clear sign of his intimidation. “C-can you…” Ari paused. “You n-need to let m-me go… N-now.” Max’s smile dropped as he tightened his grip around the boy’s arms. Ari felt his stomach sink seconds before his feet left the ground. He slid up the wall, only stopping once his face was parallel with Max’s.
“A little birdie told me your scrawny ass is joining the wrestling team. Is it true?” The only person Ari had even talked to about this was Thomas. Ari made a mental note to give his best friend hell later that day.
“I'm just meeting with the coach.” Ari couldn't read Max’s face, but his intensity was unmistakable. He could practically see himself in the reflection of Max’s eyes. “I-I'm not even sure if I qualify, let alone if I’d actually w-wanna join.” For a moment Ari swore he saw Max's face soften before he was dropped back down to his feet.
“Word of advice: Don’t.” The warning didn't feel like the previous intimidation tactics. To Ari, it felt oddly genuine. “But if you do…” Max ripped the firefighting photo off the homoerotic calendar, his smug grin returning to his face. “I look forward to pinning you to the mat.” He placed the image in Ari’s hands. “April was last month, Little Princess.” Max gave Ari a wink, turned, then started down the hall. Ari was left flustered, confused, and with less than 10 minutes till his meeting.
“So much for alone time...” Ari said, tossing the novel back into his locker. He slammed the door and started toward the gym. “Ani -fucking- ayef..."
